


SherlolliShots - Realizations

by Liathwen



Series: SherlolliShots [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 07:36:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2539631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liathwen/pseuds/Liathwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From keeperofthebooks on Tumblr:<br/>Prompt: Sherlock pushes Molly too far one day when in the morgue, and she finally has it. Hurt/comfort with makeup smut?<br/>Prompt: Sherlock and Molly are discussing life and Sherlock begins to think about getting older with Molly. Fluff abounds.</p><p>Well, I kinda, sorta combined the two prompts, because when I began writing the first one, it kinda bled into the second in a way. Anyway, I hope you like it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	SherlolliShots - Realizations

“Oh Molly! I could use an assistant.”

She sighed quietly as his voice carried down the dark hall to her retreating figure. Part of her wanted to keep walking, to just ignore him and go home to her cuddly feline and a glass of cheap red, but she knew she’d feel guilty if she did. So Molly turned around and headed back towards the lab without a word, dropping her bag and coat just inside the door, not bothering to find a place to hang them.

\-----------------------------------

Sherlock was already seated at his microscope but looked up at the noise created by her falling things. His nose crinkled as he took in her appearance, tendrils of hair coming loose from her normally immaculate ponytail, dark circles beginning to form on the pale skin just under her eyes. His brow furrowed. She’d lost weight; some when her engagement ended, and more when Moriarty resurfaced. Sherlock frowned. She looked… exhausted. He felt a stab of what could have been guilt for demanding that she stay, but he’d really wanted to spend time with her and couldn’t think of another excuse. Though, in retrospect, he could have picked a better night.

_Oh well, done now. And I DO have an experiment to do._

He explained his hypothesis to the little woman, who merely nodded and set about gathering the tools to complete the experiment. She worked silently, none of the usual inane chatter about her cat or interesting things she’d seen on bodies that day. It bothered him, getting to the point where he botched part of the tests because he was paying more attention to her. He lost his temper then, annoyed at himself for having fallen into the trap of actually caring for the petite woman working next to him.

“Dammit Molly, if I’d known you were just going to be a distraction, I’d have gotten The Woman to help instead. She’d be more useful than you are at this point!”

As soon as he said it, he knew he’d gone too far. Molly knew the story behind Irene Adler’s interactions with the detective, having been informed of the whole story by John when he’d finally discovered that she was very much alive, via her naked presence in 221B one evening.

Sherlock had unceremoniously kicked her out, wanting nothing to do with the manipulative woman, but John had vented to Molly about how no one connected to Sherlock seemed to stay dead. Molly remembered that Sherlock had “identified” the dominatrix by her body, not her face, and John had been quick to explain that it was because Sherlock had seen her like that at their first meeting. He did, however, throw in a remark about being sure that the detective was interested in her at one point.

Now Sherlock cursed inwardly as he watched Molly’s face go carefully blank, none of the hurt she was feeling seeping through the façade, and turn back to her work silently. He knew though. She was always so happy, so full of life. To see her expressionless, robotic, was almost worse than seeing her cry.

Telling her that she was less useful than Irene Adler had been a horrible thing to say. Even Sherlock realized that. He’d just compared her to a heartless woman who used people to get what she wanted out of life.

Molly was the opposite of that Woman. She was kind, giving and helpful. And brilliant too. Oh, Irene had her tricks, her manipulations, but Molly, no Molly was truly intelligent. She could identify pathogens just by the effects on the body. She could fake a death with such skill that it fooled a doctor. She could keep a secret so well that for the entire time Sherlock had been gone, no one had a clue that she’d helped him survive. (Except Anderson, but honestly, the man was just having a fantasy, even if Sherlock did rather like some of the finer points of his theory.)

After a few moments, it seemed that she couldn’t hold it in, and she silently dropped the tools she was using and walked to the door, grabbing up her bag and coat on the way, and left with not a word.

Sherlock watched her go and cringed when the door clicked shut. Not even in her emotional turmoil was Molly going to slam a door in his face. He buried his head in his hands and sighed.

_What a mess I’ve made._

\-----------------------------------

He sat, hands pressed together, fingers absentmindedly grazing over his full lower lip, for a long time. Just thinking. Thinking about Molly Hooper and the huge amount of space she took up in his mind palace. It was ridiculous really, for such a tiny woman to take so much room, but she did. He remembered everything she told him about herself, and all the things he deduced, things she didn’t say out loud. He filed them all away neatly in her room, but often found that she bled out into other areas of his mind.

He had even imagined her getting older, the beautiful brown hair streaked with grey. He pictured her on their wedding day, eyes full of love as she walked down the aisle towards him. He imagined their children; they’d have her cute little upturned nose and kind brown eyes, but his wayward curls and prominent cheekbones. He knew just the place he wanted to retire to, out in the country, with bees and an orchard.

It frightened him that he had succumbed to his feelings for her so completely.

Sherlock had long ago accepted that he was indeed capable of some form of sentiment, and known that it was his particular weakness. The need to keep those he cared for and trusted safe and happy. Even if he himself wasn’t particularly happy. John was, now that he had Mary, and their sweet daughter Amanda who did nothing bedsides eat, sleep and cry for now.

Lestrade was happy. He’d finally divorced his cheating wife and was now a swinging bachelor, popular with the ladies, who’d nicknamed him The Silver Fox.

Sherlock cringed.

Mrs. Hudson was happy, even Mycroft was happy in his own unique way.

_Nothing like starting a war to cheer a man up,_ Sherlock thought, with only partial sarcasm.

But he wasn’t happy.

And he knew Molly Hooper wasn’t happy either.

The more Sherlock thought, the more the answer became clear to him. He and Molly Hooper could make each other happy.

Could he?

He could try.

The detective leapt up from the stool he’d been on ever since the pathologist had taken her leave and snatched up his coat, not even sparing a glance for his long-forgotten experiment.

He had a better one in mind.

\--------------------------------

Molly was finishing her third glass of wine when the knock rang through her quiet flat. She sighed heavily. It was nearly twelve thirty, and she knew there was only one person who would show up at her flat that late at night.

For a second, she considered faking that she was already sleeping.

She had bathed the second she walked in, soaking for nearly an hour in a luxurious bubble bath, she long, honey colored hair pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head. She’d removed her contacts after, perching her little black rimmed glasses on her nose and wiggled into an oversized rust colored tee shirt that fell off of one shoulder and a tiny pair of black shorts; her typical sleepwear.

Going to the kitchen, she’d fed Toby, then poured herself a generous glass of her favorite red wine, intending to sip it while reading her favorite book, The Adventures of Robin Hood. Having downed half the glass before she made it to the couch however, Molly just snatched up the bottle and took it with her.

At the time of the knock, she was curled up with her feet underneath her, thoroughly absorbed by the tales of the dashing outlaw. Molly sometimes fancied Sherlock as a bit of a Robin Hood when he was carrying out his mission of unraveling Moriarty’s empire.

Now she just shook her head and turned the book upside down on the coffee table to hold her place,  and stood, padding over to the door, wine glass still in hand.

“Go away, Sherlock,” she called through the closed door.

“If you don’t open up I’ll pick the lock,” was the reply and she sighed again.

_Frustrating man._

She opened, knowing he’d make good on the threat and was nearly bowled over by a manic Sherlock. He looked her over once, his eyes widening a fraction at all the exposed skin, and gingerly reached towards her, plucking the wine glass from her hand.

He examined it for a second, then raised it to his lips, taking a long sip from exactly where Molly’s lips had touched the rim.

The tiny woman stared at him, wondering what game he was playing at when he suddenly set the glass down onto the side table and stepped close to her, pulling her into his arms and planting an ardent kiss on her lips.

_What the bloody hell?_

Molly was shocked by Sherlock’s sudden action and froze for a spilt second, before she felt his tongue slip over the lower lip, seeking entrance. Her arms came up around him of their own accord and she found herself opening for him, letting him kiss her quite expertly until they both felt the need to breathe.

She stared at him when he pulled back and tried to find words.

“What the hell was that, Sherlock Holmes?!” she demanded, conscious of the side of her shirt slipping down to expose her naked shoulder. His eyes followed the movement of her hand as she pulled it back up.

“I wanted to see if the wine tasted better on your lips,” he said simply, gauging her reaction through heavy lidded eyes.

Molly blushed.

“Molly,” he began, nervously clearing his throat. “I think I may be in love with you.”

Her mouth dropped open in shock and she just stared at him as he shifted his weight back and forth, waiting for her reaction.

“I’m sorry, what?” she finally found the breath to reply.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he stated again, still watching her.

“And how did you come to that conclusion?” she asked slowly, examining his face for any sign of a lie. Molly could read him better than anyone else, even Mycroft. She’d know if he wasn’t being entirely sincere. Lucky for him, he was.

“I realized recently that I wasn’t very happy, but I didn’t know why. Then I noticed that you aren’t happy either and came to the conclusion that I wanted to make you happy.”

He stepped close to her again and lifted her hand, folding it to rest two fingers on the pulse point in his neck.

“You make me feel things that I’ve never felt before, Molly. I want you. I want to take care of you. I want,” he choked slightly before soldiering on, “I want to marry you and start a family with you.”

He licked his lips nervously. “I want to grow old with you and see our grandchildren come to visit us in the country on Christmas holiday. Molly, please tell me you want all of that as well.”

She gazed up at him, feeling his pulse race beneath her fingers, and smiled.

“You know I’ve wanted that for years, you silly man,” she replied, her eyes bright and happy.

“Oh thank God,” he murmured, leaning down to capture her lips again, hungry for her.

She reciprocated happily and gasped into his mouth as his clever fingers slipped into her shorts, verifying what he already had expected, that she was without knickers. He smirked as he moved his lips down her jaw and neck, pausing to suck a dark mark into the base of her throat. Molly’s hands moved up to twist into his curls and Sherlock groaned at the light pulling sensation, bucking his hips against her. It was her turn to smirk as she moved to work on the buttons for his shirt. He had other ideas though, and shrugged off his coat and suit jacket, letting them drop indiscriminately to the floor, before literally ripping his shirt off, making buttons fly in every direction.

Molly gasped and giggled, as he pulled her shirt off of her, leaving both of them topless. The rest of their clothes followed in short order and Sherlock backed her towards her room, kissing the breath out of her the whole way there.

He whispered sweet nothings in her ear as he pushed into her, making love to his pathologist slowly, savoring the moment. Their tryst lasted most of the night, and when they finally collapsed, the sweat on their bodies cooling, he pulled her close and held her as they succumbed to sleep.

Sherlock and Molly both knew there’d be obstacles in the path to happily ever after.

The important thing was that in that moment, they were both happy.  


End file.
